


The Boy Next Door

by atetheredmind



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, F/M, Katniss is a cougar, Minor Katniss Everdeen/Gale Hawthorne, Pregnancy, Pregnancy sex, Squirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 06:14:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28613412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atetheredmind/pseuds/atetheredmind
Summary: Katniss has a new neighbor. He’s good-looking, sweet. But he’s too young for her. And she is definitely too pregnant for him.
Relationships: Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark
Comments: 15
Kudos: 214
Collections: Prompts in Panem - Farewell Tour 2015





	The Boy Next Door

**Author's Note:**

> Another old Prompts in Panem fic.

Katniss struggles to heft the heavy paper grocery bags from the backseat of her car, careful not to lose her balance as she bends over.

“Hey! Do you need a hand?”

Katniss’ head whips up to find the voice. The new neighbor boy hesitates on the edge of her driveway, bare feet curling in the grass that separates their yards.

“No thank you,” she says curtly, but of course one of the bags slips in her arms, saved only by the swell of her burgeoning belly. Why didn’t she get plastic bags with handles? Or even bring her own reusable bags?

The boy is at her side then, sliding the bag from her with a smile. “Let me help,” he offers, and if he sees her scowl, he ignores it. She stares at him for a moment, at his rumpled blond curls, his squinty, blue eyes that cut in the sunlight, the small dimple in his left cheek. He looks all of 17 or 18, the picture of youth and vitality and innocence.

Meanwhile, her skin prickles uncomfortably in the high afternoon sun, her clothes are damp with sweat, her braid is frizzy, her cheeks are chafed from the humidity. And the human basketball growing in her belly is anything but the picture of innocence.

She knows that’s the only reason he’s squawking all over her, as if carrying two loads of groceries is a grave danger to her unborn child. That’s how everyone acts around her these days.

“Fine,” she huffs. He moves to take the second bag from her, but at her death glare, he backs off sheepishly, following her into her house.

The air conditioning is like a cool balm on her skin, and she unceremoniously dumps her bag on the kitchen counter. The neighbor boy sets his down next to hers. “I’m Peeta, by the way. I just moved in next door. Me and my parents, I mean.”

“I know,” she says, warily shaking his hand. She watched them move in from her kitchen window a few weeks ago, the boy and his parents and two other boys who looked just like him. But she hasn’t seen the other two since. “Thanks. For your help.”

Peeta smiles again. She sees his eyes surreptitiously drop to her belly. “If you ever need help with anything, just let me know,” he says before leaving.

She doesn’t plan on it.

* * *

She’s reading a parenting self-help book, her feet propped up on an ottoman, when she hears a knock on her door. Confused, she marks her spot and clambers up from the couch before walking to the door. 

Opening the door, she frowns when she sees it’s Peeta. “Yes?” He’s sweaty, blond curls made dark and curlier by perspiration, and his gray shirt clings to him in dark patches. But he smiles brightly.

“Hey, I just finished mowing our lawn and thought I’d offer to mow yours too.”

She squints in the bright haze of sunlight, her mouth curling in a habitual scowl. “I don’t need you to do that,” she says politely, even though she knows the grass in her front and back lawns is nearly a foot tall. Uncle Haymitch is supposed to come by to mow it any day now, if he can ever put down his bottle of whiskey.

Peeta shrugs, scrubbing a hand over his slick hair. “I don’t mind, really.” She starts to object further, but he adds, “I’m already out here, so I’ll just do it real quick. It’ll only take about an hour.”

Only.

He’s already backing down her front steps, and she sighs in resignation, nodding her thanks.

She tries to pay him afterward, but he refuses her money, throwing her a grin and a wave as he drags his mower back home.

* * *

He mows her lawn again the following weekend, even though she’s pretty sure it doesn’t need it, and this time he doesn’t bother asking her beforehand. When she hears the hum of the motor in her backyard, she gets up from the couch and watches him from a window.

His shoulder muscles bunch and stretch under his white t-shirt, nearly translucent with sweat, and he stops occasionally to wipe his face with the bottom hem of his shirt. His abdomen flexes with his labored breaths, and his nose and forehead are an angry pink. She feels hot just looking at him, a flush creeping down her chest to her belly.

Damn pregnancy hormones.

When he’s done, Katniss leans out her back door and waves him inside. He looks surprised but pleased, limping inside behind her and shutting the door behind him. Since he won’t take her money, she offers him a glass of lemonade.

He accepts it like she’s just thrown a drowning man a life preserver, draining half of it seemingly in one gulp. “Thank you,” he gasps, and she nods, pouring herself a glass too, noticing the way he favors his right leg over his left.

“Did you hurt yourself mowing the lawn?” she asks, but he shakes his head and takes another sip before responding.

“No. Just a flare-up of an old injury. It’s nothing,” he says with a wince. “This lemonade is really good. Did you make it yourself?”

“Yes. But I just found the recipe online,” she explains lamely and takes a small sip from her own glass. The sweet tartness makes her lips pucker slightly.

Peeta sets his cup down to wipe his face again. She’s glad he uses the collar of his shirt this time instead of the bottom. His face is flushed and freckled, and the redness of his nose and forehead are more prominent in the soft indoor lighting. She frowns. “You should wear sunscreen out there. Your skin is so fair.”

He laughs at that, and the delicate skin around his eyes crinkles. “I’ll make sure to put some on next time if it’ll make you feel better,” he concedes. Satisfied, Katniss leans back to sit at the kitchen island, climbing onto a stool precariously, unbalanced by the weight of her belly. It’s like as soon as she reached five months, she ballooned out over night. She misses her grace, her ease of movement.

Watching her, Peeta reaches out to steady her with a hand on her arm. Her expression sours, but he just smiles at her. “So you never told me your name, and I didn’t see it on your mailbox or anything…”

“Oh.” She grunts as she settles onto the stool and squints at him, unconsciously cradling her stomach with her left hand. “I’m Katniss.”

He nods and glances around her kitchen, silent as he downs another third of his lemonade. “Do you live here by yourself?” he asks, and the way his eyes dip to her belly when he asks that, she knows what he really wants to know: _Who knocked you up, and is he here now?_

“Yep,” she answers simply, not caring to expound on this conversation.

“How long have you lived here?” Peeta hitches onto a stool too, like he’s relieved to be off his feet. Or his leg.

“Three years.” Her answers are short, and she realizes she’s probably being rude. Small talk normally makes her want to die, but she tries to ask him something in return. “Where did you move from?”

He pushes back the damp curls sticking to his forehead and drums his fingers on the glass in his other hand. “Not far, just from the capital.”

“Why here?” she asks.

“I just finished high school, and…my parents needed to find a smaller place.”

“Oh.” She squints at him. “They wanted to downsize when you go off to college?”

His smile is droll, and he gives a shake of his head. “I’m not going to college.” Peeta gulps down the rest of his drink before she can respond—though she’s not sure what she’d say—and he stands up, limping slightly to the sink to put his empty cup down. “Thank you for the lemonade, Katniss. I think I’ve stunk up your kitchen long enough, so I’m gonna go take a much needed shower.”

While the scent of grass and sweat and gasoline is strong, it isn’t wholly unpleasant, even to her heightened sense of smell. But she just gives him a small smile and lingers on that stool after he leaves, absently sipping her lemonade.

* * *

When Peeta shows up at her house again the next day, Katniss isn’t surprised. Weirder still, she’s not even annoyed.

He presents her with a brown paper bag, decorated with greasy spots. “I thought you might like some treats,” he says, and she quirks an eyebrow at him, stepping aside to let him in.

“Why, because you think all pregnant women do is stuff their faces?”

He laughs. “I don’t know, isn’t that the perk of being pregnant? You can eat whatever you want and nobody can judge you?” he asks rhetorically, thrusting the bag toward her. She wants to laugh because the reality is that these days, all people do is judge how pregnant women eat. She mourns the loss of sushi, of her gin and tonics, of raspberry jam and brie on crackers. “I actually brought it as a thanks for the lemonade, but if the baby enjoys them too, then that’s a bonus.”

Katniss sighs, exasperated. “The lemonade was thanks for mowing my lawn, Peeta. You can’t thank me for thanking you.”

“Since when?” He shrugs, still smiling, dangling the bag before her tantalizingly. Whatever it is, it smells amazing. His blue eyes twinkle. “I guess you’ll just have to find some other way to thank me for these cheese buns.”

Her eyes widen briefly at his suggestive phrasing, but she’s already distracted by the last thing he said. “Cheese buns?” Curiously, she takes the bag and unrolls the top to peer inside, leading Peeta into the kitchen.

“Yep. Fresh from our bakery. Well, not fresh. They’re the leftover ones. We have to throw out the stuff that doesn’t sell after a day or two, so I thought I’d bring you some instead of wasting them.”

Pulling a soft, greasy bun out of the bag, she looks up at him. “Bakery? Whose?”

“My parents own one. I help out,” he says as he takes the bun from her, shaking his head to chastise her. When she pouts, he laughs. “They’re better warm, just let me pop it in the microwave for you.”

He grabs the bag and finds a plate from her cabinets, arranging a few buns on it and putting them in the microwave for a few seconds. When he pulls them back out, they’re oozing cheese, and she greedily grabs one. It’s warm and doughy, and the warm cheese fills her mouth when she takes a bite. “Wow. These are really good.”

Peeta grins proudly, grabbing one for himself. “Thanks. Made them myself. Came up with the recipe and everything.”

She stares at him, already about to consume her second bun. She feels a flutter in her stomach then, low on the right side. It happens again, and she presses her hand against her belly, feeling the twitch on her palm through her loose shirt.

“Oh,” she gasps, surprised. This is the first time she’s felt the baby move, at least been completely sure of it. “The baby’s kicking.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “Really?”

She nods, dazed. “Yeah. Guess she likes the cheese buns.”

His eyes light up. “She? You know it’s going to be a girl?”

Again, Katniss nods. “Found out a couple weeks ago.”

Peeta gazes at her belly. There’s a perplexing look in his eyes, one of hesitation and intrigue. She realizes he wants to reach out to feel the kicking, but he politely refrains from asking.

* * *

The next time it happens and he’s at her house, Katniss grabs his hand and presses it against her belly where she feels the kick. Her cheeks burn, but he just looks amazed, his wide eyes dancing.

“Holy shit,” he laughs. “That’s so cool. I’ve never—I’m the youngest of three, so the last time my mom was pregnant was with me. Wow.”

She smiles, but when she realizes she’s still cupping his hand, she lets hers drop to her side on the couch. Peeta’s hand lingers, like he’s waiting for another kick, but eventually he leans away and takes the warmth of his hand with him. “So you’re actually growing a real-life human being in there,” he muses.

She shrugs. “It appears that way,” she says, settling back on a couch pillow.

He smiles, but then his brow furrows some, his mouth pulling to the side thoughtfully as he looks around. She has a feeling she knows what he wants to ask, as she watches him glance around her living room uncomfortably.

He clears his throat. “So, ah…why are you here alone? I mean, where’s the…” he trails off, briefly making eye contact with her, and his fingers trace the seam of the couch cushion under him. “I’m sorry if that’s rude to ask. I understand if you tell me it’s none of my business.”

Katniss takes a deep breath, her hand automatically cradling her belly again when she feels another mild flutter. Then she exhales softly. “My ex-boyfriend and I weren’t planning to get pregnant. It just kinda happened, but then…I realized I wanted to keep it. But my ex didn’t want to be a father yet. So he took off.”

She shrugs as if to dismiss the misfortune of the situation. She’s given up being angry about it, anyway.

He frowns, the expression giving his face a severity that unsettles her. “Well. He’s an asshole. And an idiot.”

Her smile is amused, wry. “Yes. Unfortunately, I realized that a little too late.” Peeta rakes a hand through his curls, and she sees a smudge of dried sunblock near his hairline that he failed to rub in completely. Her smile softens, and without thinking, she reaches out to smear it in with her thumb, gently.

His eyes watch her face intently, and he smiles shyly at her. This time her hand isn’t as quick to come back to rest on her lap.

* * *

She’s not sure how or when it happens, the two of them settling into a sort of routine together. He mows her lawn, she makes him lemonade, he brings her leftovers from the bakery. He carries her groceries for her, grabs her mail from the mailbox so she doesn’t have to walk out to get it herself. He frets when he sees her picking up something heavy, shooing her away to do it himself. He sits in her living room, listening intently as she details her doctor’s appointments or the nursery she wants to put together in the spare bedroom even though she knows it has to be of zero interest to him. He helps her assemble the crib and shelves and a dresser.

They’re relaxing on her couch as they watch TV one night, Katniss complaining about her heartburn and her swollen feet, when Peeta gestures to her feet. “Give them to me.” At her confusion, he pulls her legs into his lap and begins rubbing her soles.

“Oh—” she starts to object, startled, but his thumb hits a pressure point, and she melts into the couch with an involuntary sigh.

His eyebrows pinch together in concentration as he kneads her heels and the balls of her feet. “I told you you’re on your feet too much.”

She scoffs. “I have a desk job. It’s the heat.” She shakes her head, closing her eyes. “And the cheese buns. All that salt. You should stop bringing them.”

He tuts at her teasingly. “You don’t mean that.”

Katniss cracks an eye open to peer at him. No, she definitely doesn’t. Finally, she shakes her head again. “Don’t you have people your own age to hang out with? I can’t imagine this is really what you want to be doing with your summer. Rubbing my fat feet.”

Peeta shrugs, rolling the pad of his thumb in her left arch in a way that makes her spine bow. A smile tugs at his mouth. “Everyone I know is going off to college in a month or so anyway. Might as well get used to it.”

She’s quiet as she watches him then asks hesitantly, “Why aren’t you going to college?”

His lips purse in mild consternation, his brow pinching together. “I was supposed to. I actually had a full ride to Panem State. Wrestling scholarship. But I fucked up my knee pretty badly beginning of my senior year, so I lost it.” He glances over at her. “Owning a small business, my parents don’t have the best health insurance. My hospital bills nearly wrecked them. That’s why they got a smaller house.”

“Peeta…” she trails off, at a loss for words. “That’s…I’m sorry. That’s awful.”

He shrugs again, though she can tell it takes more effort for him this time. “S’okay. I can go to the community college, work at the bakery. Maybe take over it someday. I’m not completely without options.”

“And one of those options is hanging out with your grouchy nearly 30-year-old pregnant neighbor?” She quirks an eyebrow.

He lifts his head, a wide smile creeping across his face. “I like hanging out with you.”

He continues rubbing her feet, and she stares at him, mystified. The realization is unnerving: She likes hanging out with him too. She thought it was just habit now, familiarity, but she actually looks forward to his company. Her 18-year-old neighbor’s company.

She’s suddenly very aware of how warm and strong his hands are on her bare feet, and when they slide up to rub her ankles and calves, the calluses on his fingers deliciously scraping her skin, she jolts and hastily retracts her feet from his lap.

He looks up at her, alarmed. “What’s wrong?”

Licking her lips, she shakes her head. Tries to appear nonchalant, tries to ignore the dull pulsing low in her pelvis. “Nothing, it’s just—I need to sit up. My back’s hurting me.”

“Oh, well, come here, I can rub that for you,” he offers, scooting closer, and she holds up her hand.

“No! No, I mean, it’s not really…it’s just a pregnancy thing. Massaging it—massaging won’t help,” she finishes weakly. Peeta doesn’t look convinced, but he backs off.

“Okay.”

Standing up carefully, Katniss braces her hand against the small of her back and gives him a strained smile. “I’m gonna take a bath, actually. I’ll see you later, Peeta.”

* * *

She knows she can’t avoid him forever, but she doesn’t even know what to tell him. _I’m sorry we can’t see each other anymore, but I feel pervy hanging out with you even though I’m sure you don’t think of me that way at all?_

Cutting him off without preamble seems so wrong, because he’s been so nice and helpful to her.

So when he comes around again, she reluctantly answers the door, but she doesn’t let him inside, blocking the entrance with her body.

Peeta frowns at her, perplexed. “What’s up?”

Katniss shakes her head, not meeting his gaze. “Look. Peeta, I…don’t think you should come over anymore.”

His eyebrows shoot up in alarm. “What?” He takes a step closer. “Did I do something wrong? Did I upset you?”

She sighs. “No. You didn’t. I just think it’s…inappropriate, you coming over here.”

His expression turns thoughtful, curious. “Inappropriate how?”

Her cheeks are hot, and she twists the doorknob absently. “I know you know what I’m saying, Peeta. People are going to get the wrong idea.”

He’s quiet as he studies her, then he braces his shoulder against the doorway. “Well…what if they’re not wrong?”

Her mouth hangs open uselessly as she gapes at him. “What?” she finally utters, aghast.

His shoulders hunch together bashfully, his hands slipping into his front pockets. “I don’t care what people think,” he says instead.

“You—you’re too young, Peeta.” Her gaze flits around, toward his parents’ house, and she rubs at her forehead, still stuck on his previous statement.

He frowns. “I’m 18. I’m an adult, and you’re an adult. We’re not doing anything illegal.”

His words fluster her, and she makes sounds of protest in the back of her throat. “God, don’t say stuff like that!” she bursts out. _Illegal_. He’s right, but still. There’s nothing illegal going on because there’s _nothing going on._

Nervously, she looks past him to survey their neighborhood, and then she hurriedly waves him inside. It’s just going to look worse the longer he stands on her doorstep. She leads him into the kitchen, takes a deep breath to steady herself before facing him again. It doesn’t help. Her lungs contract as she takes him in. So handsome and kind and guileless. And magnetic, like she can’t turn away from him. The way he looks at her is addictive.

Frazzled, Katniss rubs at her forehead again, shame prickling down her spine. “I’m 10 years older than you. Why the hell do you even want to spend time with your pregnant neighbor—”

With a roll of his eyes, Peeta cuts her off, “Why are you so hung up about that? I told you I like hanging out with you. Your being pregnant isn’t an issue for me.”

This time Katniss scoffs. “That’s the reason you started coming over here in the first place, Peeta, because you saw me as some helpless invalid, and you know it.”

“No, I spoke to you that first day because I was attracted to you,” he says. His eyes are bright and honest, and there’s no self-consciousness shrouding his expression or admission. Her eyes go wide, and he keeps talking when she doesn’t immediately respond, “I thought you were pretty. I’d been trying to figure out a way to talk to you. I didn’t help you for completely selfless reasons. I wanted to get to know you. I thought you maybe enjoyed my company too.”

“I—I do.” She’s beginning to forget what she was trying to tell him before.

He moves closer. “Then why stop? I’ll be more discreet if you want, I can use the back door—”

She laughs at the absurdity. “There shouldn’t be a _reason_ to be discreet, Peeta! If we need to be discreet, then we’re clearly doing something wrong.”

His eyes narrow slightly, and he cocks his head to the side. “What feels wrong to you, Katniss?”

She stares at him for a moment, searching his face. She can’t admit it to him. She can’t admit it to herself. Looking away, she groans softly and shakes her head. “I just…Maybe it’s just this pregnancy. My emotions are all out of whack, and the, the hormones…”

She blushes, but his eyes glint, and he smiles dangerously, with just the right touch of shyness. He steps into her space. “I think I know a little something about hormones.”

She can’t remember how to push the air out of her lungs, suddenly entranced by the smattering of freckles on his nose. He lifts his hand up to cup her jaw, smoothing his thumb across her cheek as his eyes search hers. She can’t look away when he leans in to touch his lips to hers. His hot breath skims across her mouth as he exhales, and she pulls it into her lungs with a deep inhale, closing her eyes with fluttered lashes.

She presses her mouth more firmly to his, and he slips his tongue against hers, to taste her. This seems to crack him open, everything spilling out with a low groan, and he kisses her fully. It’s unpracticed but earnest, and Katniss can’t get enough. Her hands curl into fists in the sides of his shirt.

When he pulls his head back, just enough to breathe, she’s panting and unsteady and can barely focus. Peeta lets out a shaky breath and touches his forehead to hers.

“Katniss. I like you so much,” he whispers, raw and plaintive.

Her throat is dry, and she tries to work some spit into her mouth by moving her tongue. Wetting her lips, she finally gives a small nod. Her whispered words are just as quiet as his. “I like you too.”

* * *

He moves above her, his body heavy and solid against hers. Which is good because she feels like she’s going to float away, or burn up, if he doesn’t hold her down or touch her.

“Peeta,” she whispers, her voice quivering, and he settles between her legs. His bare abdomen grazes her belly, and she wants to hide it from him, sure it must be unattractive to him. He tries to hold his weight off of her, skimming his hand over her body, and she can feel him trembling. Or maybe she is. Her body pulses with nervous energy, and many times she thinks to stop him, to stop this, but instead she just pulls down on his shoulders to kiss him.

His lips are wet, his tongue hot, and he kisses her eagerly. His erection jumps between her thighs, big and unyielding, and he shifts his hips to push into her. He groans gutturally, and she kisses him through it until she can’t, needing to moan out loud, too, from the fullness of him inside her.

“Is this okay?” he asks nervously. She just nods, and he exhales as he thrusts into her again. It’s awkward, jerky, the way her full belly rubs against his, and he lifts himself off her so he can move inside her more easily. His eyes shine down at her in the dark, his breathing hard, and she pulls her knees up to cradle his hips between hers. He gasps her name and moves faster. The sounds of their coupling, the slickness between her thighs, makes her even slicker, amplifying the ache.

“Katniss, I’m gonna come,” he warns suddenly. He sounds apologetic, embarrassed, his forehead pressed against her jaw.

“Wait, wait,” she whispers desperately, forces him to pull out, to slow down. He’s panting, fighting through the surge of his delayed orgasm, and she kisses him again, slowly. She guides his hand between her legs, directs him where to touch her. He rubs her experimentally, stroking her clit when she moans in encouragement, but he stops to touch her breasts. They’re full and heavier than she’s used to, more sensitive, so he only grazes them with his knuckles, kissing, tonguing them lightly. It’s enough still to send a crack of lightning between her thighs.

Peeta kneels between her legs then. She’s wet and uncomfortable, spread wide, and she wants to stop him when she realizes what he’s about to do, but then his tongue feels so good on her. “You don’t have to,” she gasps, even as she pulls on his hair.

“Do you want me to?” he asks. He sounds so endearingly uncertain, and she sits up on her elbows so she can see him over her stomach.

“Yes.”

It takes him a while to get her there, his tongue stroking and tasting every inch of her until he finds what pushes her over. She comes hard, her moans lost to the blood thundering through her ears, and then she comes again, either because he’s so enthusiastic or her body’s just been that tightly strung all these months.

Once she stops trembling so violently, she twists over onto her knees, sinking down onto her forearms so he can finally finish. His hands flutter on her hips and waist like he’s not sure what to do, how to proceed, and she has to guide him back inside her.

After that, it doesn’t take him long to find his rhythm again. “Oh god—fuck,” he groans, hot and frantic against the curve of her spine as he bends over her, and his hips buck frantically into hers. She rocks back to meet him, braced under his weight that threatens to sink her into the mattress.

“I’m coming, Katniss,” he grunts, his lips brushing the plea onto her skin. “Should I—should I pull out?”

“Come inside me,” she tells him breathlessly. Something base and ferocious inside her wants that, wants to feel his cum seeping out of her. He latches onto her hips, burying himself inside her. He throbs, swells, digs his fingers into her thighs so firmly she thinks he might break the skin. She just clutches the sheets and forces herself to breathe through his orgasm, shuddering when the damp heat of his moan kisses her sweaty skin.

They lie on their sides afterward, facing each other. Katniss can’t quite meet his gaze, instead focusing on the rosy swell of his mouth. Peeta combs his fingers through her hair, and the sensation is hypnotic.

Her eyes drift shut, but she forces herself out of the post-coital bliss. “You should probably go home,” she murmurs finally. His hand freezes.

“You want me to leave?”

It’s an effort to push herself up, away from him. His fingers unravel from her hair, and she finds her robe on the ground to slip into. Cinching it closed around her swollen belly, she looks at him over her shoulder. His expression is wounded, and she treads delicately. “I just don’t think you should be spending the night…not when you live next door. With your parents.”

A deep sigh. Peeta sits up and climbs off the bed, grabbing his clothes off the floor. “Okay,” he agrees quietly, and she watches him get dressed. Already her body is thrumming with renewed interest and longing, and her gaze lingers on his half-hard cock until he stuffs it into his boxer-briefs and pants. He pulls on his shirt and moves toward the bedroom door, but she calls out to him.

He looks back at her eagerly, and she wonders when she started making such poor decisions.

“Come by tomorrow.”

* * *

Peeta comes to the back door the next day. She’s embarrassed by the implication, embarrassed by her shamelessness, but he just touches her face, smiling.

“You could have used the front door,” she mumbles.

He smooths his thumb over her brow, her cheek bone. “I’ll be starting classes soon. I have some day and evening classes, so I won’t be able to come over till night.”

“Oh.” She’s not sure how to respond, and she’s too lost in the way his thumb feels on her skin.

“Do you still want to see me?” he asks. She nods slowly. “Then I should probably start using the back door.”

* * *

She tells herself it’s wrong, but she can’t seem to stop herself. She can’t stop letting him in through that back door, letting him into her bed. He still comes over during the day sometimes, on the weekends, but it’s mostly at night. They talk. He tells her about the classes he’s taking. She tells him about what new, horrific fact she’s learned about her pregnant body. Surprisingly, he never seems bothered by any of it. He’s never put off by how much bigger her belly gets each week.

She can’t be on top, ever. He’s so much bigger than her, but still, she feels heavy and awkward and embarrassed. She can’t fuck him in that position. So they stick to missionary, and mainly doggy-style. And sometimes spooning.

He’s fucking her that way now. His chest presses against her sweaty back as he pistons in and out of her on their sides. He’s got his leg between hers, propping her right knee up. He holds it open with his hand so he can slide into her deeper. His other hand is wedged between her torso and the mattress, fondling her breast, kneading it gently. Sometimes he forgets how tender she is and gets a little rough. Sometimes she can handle it—sometimes she even likes it.

His breaths are hot and sticky on her neck, and her head lolls back onto his shoulder, bliss coursing through her. He pants in her ear, pinches her nipple, and she moans. This is one of those times when his being rough feels wonderful.

“God, Katniss, you feel so good. Tight. Wet,” he grunts each word. She pushes back against him to encourage him, flexing around his cock. His moan is a strangled breath in her ear.

“Are you gonna come? Do I need to rub your clit?”

“No,” she forces out, breathing hard. “It feels—I think you’re hitting my g-spot like this.”

“Yeah?” He sounds excited, and he moves inside her faster. She thrusts her ass back against him again, trying to angle herself so he can keep rubbing that spot. The ridge of his cock does, and she trembles.

“Yeah, keep fucking me like that,” she groans. It’s a weird sensation, good but overwhelming; the intensity of it builds, and it’s both exhilarating and terrifying. Peeta maintains his blistering pace, their skin slapping together angrily as he works her to that point. He’s breathing hard, echoing her punctuated, mewling moans, which only grow louder, more unhinged. Her vision blurs, and she squeezes her eyes shut.

The pleasure breaks then, crashing through her, and she bears down instinctively, her walls pulsing erratically. Her clit throbs, and she cries out, something wet trickling over her thighs. For a brief, panicky moment, she thinks her water might have broken, but she can’t stop convulsing with pleasure long enough to figure it out.

“Oh fuck, Katniss,” Peeta moans, his thrusts faltering in surprise, but then he jerks inside her a few more times before holding her against him tightly. He pants against the back of her neck as he comes, his heart beating through his chest, through her back. Her own heart is pounding just as hard.

Finally, she’s able to shake off the haze of her orgasm, and she shifts until he slips out of her, rolling onto her back and pushing up on her hands. Her thighs are wet, and so are the sheets underneath her. She reaches between her legs to touch herself. Her fingers come back slick with her sticky arousal and Peeta’s semen but wet with some kind of clear liquid too.

She’s not in any pain, there’s no contractions or abdominal pain, no blood. She’s barely 8 months pregnant. It wasn’t her amniotic sac rupturing, she reassures herself.

“What’s wrong?” Peeta asks, his arm flopping out across the bed.

She shakes her head slowly. “That was just…intense,” she says, still breathless. He laughs.

“You squirted.”

She flushes in embarrassment. The wet spot on the bed is bigger now, and she shifts away from it. “That’s just…I’ve never done that before,” she admits. She doesn’t think so, anyway; she knows she’s certainly never _gushed_ before.

His smile widens. “Me neither. Wow. We’re pretty good at this together.”

Her face is still red, but she rolls her eyes and moves to get off the bed. “Get up. I need to change the sheets.”

* * *

“I’m working the morning shift at the bakery tomorrow, so I won’t be able to mow the lawn until the evening,” Peeta tells her from his spot on the floor. He’s putting together her stroller, eyes skimming the instruction manual.

Katniss stands at the changing table, folding the load of baby clothes she just washed. “That’s fine. I have a Lamaze class though, so I don’t think I’ll be home till 6.”

He looks up at her. “A Lamaze class? Is that where they get you ready to give birth?” She nods. “You’re going alone?”

“Well, yeah,” she says, setting aside a onesie she plans to put in her hospital bag. It’s white with a yellow baby duck on the front. She decides it will be the first outfit her daughter wears home from the hospital.

“Shouldn’t you have someone go with you to this class?” Peeta says, pushing a wheel on and screwing the washer on after it, but he’s still watching her.

She glances at him with a dubious look. “I’m going to be delivering this baby alone, so I should prepare to deliver it alone.”

He stops what he’s doing to focus on her. “What? You’re not going to be alone. I’m going to be there.”

Surprised, she shakes her head. “Peeta…no. This isn’t—I mean, you’re not…this isn’t your responsibility. I’m doing this on my own. It’s fine.”

He frowns at her, actually looking hurt. “Katniss, I want to be there. I thought you and I…I mean, I know I’m not the father, but I thought…I plan to be here, in your life, when that baby is born. I want to help, and I want to take care of you. You shouldn’t have to do it alone. Please, let me be there for you.”

She stares at him mutely, clutching a tiny shirt to her chest. She’s not sure what to say. None of this seems right, forcing him into some kind of relationship with her, foisting the care of someone else’s child on to him, especially when he’s so young. She can only imagine the looks she’ll get, the questions, with Peeta at her side in that hospital room, but she can’t deny the small part of her that wants him there, the relief budding inside her that she won’t be alone in this after all.

She bites her lip and finally nods. “Okay. If…if you’re really sure, if you really want to be there. It’s not going to be pretty, you should know that. It could take a long time too, so I completely understand if you change your mind—”

“Katniss,” he interrupts her, standing up. Walking toward her, he squeezes her arms and pulls her closer. He smiles. “This might surprise you, but I’m not a complete idiot. I’ve been reading the books too.”

“Oh.” She’s seen him flipping through them, but she didn’t really think he was _reading_ them.

“I should be there so you at least have someone to yell at,” he teases, and she smiles faintly.

“You don’t deserve that. This has nothing to do with you,” she says, gesturing to her belly. “You definitely don’t deserve to have me screaming at you.” He’s been unfailingly kind to her. She doesn’t want to risk scaring him away. She already knows on a good day she’s not the nicest person, so it’s a mystery why he sticks around as it is.

He grins. “Well, as a guy, I can be the stand-in on which you unleash all your anger toward the male population.” She rolls her eyes good-naturedly, and he smooths his thumb over her brow, down her cheekbone. “I should probably come to the Lamaze class too. I want to know how to coach you through the labor.”

She hesitates but relents to that as well. “Okay. I’ll allow it.”

With a smile, he slides his palm down to her jaw, curling his fingers around the back of her neck and pulling her in for a kiss. It’s slow, unhurried, and he sweetly strokes her tongue with his. When he pulls back to look at her, she can’t fight the smile that spreads across her face.

* * *

When she and Peeta walk into the Lamaze class on Saturday, she is excruciatingly aware of all the stares that turn in their direction. The last time she was here, she’d been alone. The only one without a partner. Apparently, that had been less noteworthy than bringing an 18-year-old with her.

Peeta keeps his hand on the small of her back as they weave through the couples, and she keeps her eyes straight ahead of her so she doesn’t make eye contact with anyone. As she and Peeta sit down on the floor, him behind her and her cradled between his legs, she can feel the judgment, the questions, the accusations.

If he notices, he doesn’t acknowledge it. Instead he acts oblivious, sweeping her braid over her shoulder, brushing the loose hairs at the back of her neck aside. She tries to relax against him, and his gentle touches help. The class soon starts, and they begin with the breathing exercises.

Eventually, Katniss becomes aware of something else in the looks the other women shoot her. Something more bitter than the scandalized nature of their looks.

Jealousy. They’re envious.

Glancing around the room, she realizes the women, tucked against their own husbands and partners, aren’t even really looking at her. They’re focused on Peeta, wistful gleams in their eyes.

Katniss feels a rush of possessiveness, tinged with some sort of animalistic pride, and she leans into him more, practically snuggling against his chest. He dips his chin to look at her, caught off guard, but then he smiles and gives her knees a squeeze, holding her close.

Later, once the class is over and they’re back in her car, she waits for the parking lot to clear out, and then she sucks him off from the driver’s seat, taking as much of his cock as deep as she can manage. He comes in her mouth, all breathless groans and white knuckles and effusive thanks. She’s never enjoyed the act more in her life.

And she’s never been more aroused in her life. By the time they get to her house, she’s already wet and achy, and they only make it as far as her couch before he drops to his knees to lick her. She braces her hands against the back of the couch, her leggings and panties peeled off and dangling from the leg hooked over his shoulder because he was too impatient to remove them completely.

His tongue splits her open, lapping greedily at the wetness leaking out of her, then he focuses on her clit. He flicks at it diligently before sucking it between his lips. Katniss gasps, her knees nearly buckling underneath her when she comes against his mouth instantly. Her fingers wind through his soft curls and pull at the roots, demanding more as his tongue coaxes her through her orgasm.

“Peeta,” she pants just to say his name, a rush of affection warming her face. He stands up, wincing as he puts his weight on his bad knee. He kisses her after wiping his mouth off on his shirt, then he turns her around and bends her over. She holds onto the back of the couch while he unfastens his pants, hurriedly pulling his cock out. She sucks her bottom lip into her mouth when she feels his tip between her cheeks, between her thighs, searching. Then he’s pushing into her, and she thrusts back onto him, taking him deeper.

“God, Katniss,” he groans a full-bodied groan, moving slowly as if to savor the feel of her. “Want you so much.”

When he starts thrusting into her faster, she gasps and bends over more to rest her forehead on her arm, closing her eyes. Her other hand flattens against her belly, and his hands hold onto her hips. He feels delicious, his thick cock sliding in and out of her.

His fingertips tighten to bruise her skin, and she knows he’s close, squeezes her walls around his shaft.

But a knock on the front door startles them, and Peeta slows to a stop, still inside her. Katniss lifts her head, trying to peer over his shoulder. Another knock. Her breath catches in her throat. She never gets visitors. Only Peeta.

What if it’s her uncle? Or worse, Peeta’s parents, finally catching on to their son’s activities with the older, pregnant neighbor woman.

“I—I gotta get that,” she forces out, panicked. Peeta groans slightly, still breathing hard, and she feels his thighs quiver against hers with his effort to not come. He thrusts one more time before he pulls out reluctantly and tucks himself back into his pants with a pained grimace.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, hastily pulling up her panties and leggings. She’s sticky and wet as she crosses to the foyer. Peeta thankfully lingers behind in the living room, probably to get his erection and blue balls under control.

She tries to fix her hair before she answers the door. Unfortunately she doesn’t have a peephole so she can’t check who it is before opening it.

As soon as she does, she regrets it.

“Gale,” she says, stunned at the sight of her ex on her doorstep.

“Hey, Catnip,” he says warily, giving her a tight, nervous smile as he runs his hand through his dark hair.

“What are you doing here?” she asks faintly. Her eyes feel glassy, her skin paper-thin, and she’s sure she must reek of sex. She takes him in. Still tall and lean and handsome, his gray eyes hooded, unflinching. But he’s uncomfortable, evident by how much he’s fidgeting.

“I wanted to see you,” he says. His gaze drops to her belly, the corners of his mouth pulling up. “Wow. You look ready to pop.” He tries for lighthearted, but his words slam her back into the ground, and she bristles, anger and frustration she’s long denied herself surging through her.

“Well, yeah, it was six months ago when you walked out,” she snaps.

He flinches and ducks his head, chastised. “I know. I’m…I don’t even know where to begin. Katniss…” He looks at her and trails off, his eyes shifting over her shoulder. His eyes harden, and she tenses when she feels Peeta behind her. Her hand reflexively squeezes the door knob. Shit.

“Hi,” Peeta says. His voice is like concrete.

Gale’s upper lip curls slightly. “Who is this?” he asks Katniss, but Peeta answers instead.

“I’m Peeta. You must be the guy who walked out on her and her unborn child.”

Gale’s expression twists angrily. “What’s it to you?” He glances back at her. “Who the hell is this guy?”

Dread fills her stomach. “He’s my neighbor. He’s been helping me out,” she explains quickly, not sure why she can’t admit the full truth.

“Neighbor?” Peeta’s hurt is palpable, and there’s an undercurrent of anger lacing his voice too. “What, you’re not going to tell him about how I was just fucking you against your couch a minute ago when he interrupted?”

“Peeta!” She hisses, finally spinning around to look at him. She hears Gale inhale sharply behind her, and her face grows pale as she glares at Peeta.

He looks baffled by her outrage, his cheeks an angry red. “What?” he demands. Her fingers tremble, and she shakes her head.

“You need to leave. I can't—I can’t deal with you right now. I need to talk to Gale alone.”

His confusion and anger morph into pain, a wounded look marring his beautiful features. “You can’t be serious,” he says, but when she doesn’t say anything more, his jaw tightens, and he runs his ran through his mussed curls. “Fine.” Without another word, he shoulders past both of them and jogs down the steps, crossing the lawn to his own yard next door.

Katniss turns back to Gale, who is positively seething. “Really? You can’t even wait until after our child is born before you start fucking some teenager?” he spits venomously, and she reels back with shame before her own rage can solidify.

“You don’t get to judge me right now,” she sneers, folding her arms over her chest. She’s shaking. “And he’s 18. He’s not a teenager.”

Gale snorts. “Barely legal. Very classy.”

“Did you just come here to insult me, as if your abandoning me when I’m pregnant with your child wasn’t injury enough?” she says, and he’s back to looking apologetic, though his mouth is still twisted in an unhappy scowl.

Finally, he huffs. “Look. Can I just come in and talk? And can you hear me out before you tell me to fuck off?”

“You don’t need any help leaving,” she reminds him, but she steps aside to invite him in.

As Gale walks past her, she hears Peeta’s front door slam shut across the way. With a wince, she shuts her door as well.

* * *

“I’m sorry, Katniss. I freaked out.”

It’s the first apology she’s heard from Gale since he left. She knows it’s amazing he’s apologizing at all—he was never good at accepting responsibility for his mistakes—so he must be genuinely sorry.

She only nods however, unsure how to respond. She doesn’t forgive him. She’s not as mad as she used to be, but she can’t tell him it’s okay.

He sighs, resting his elbow on the kitchen island. “I’m sure this…hasn’t been easy for you.”

She looks away. “It hasn’t been that hard, actually,” she murmurs. She can feel him bristling beside her, but he wisely refrains from commenting on Peeta this time.

“Still. I shouldn’t have left.”

“If you don’t want to be a father, Gale, then there was no point in you staying,” she says. She doesn’t want to raise a child in that kind of environment.

“That’s the thing,” he says earnestly, running his hand through his hair again. “I’ve had a lot of time to think and figure my shit out and…I want to do this. With you, Katniss. I want to help you raise our child. Together. I want to be with you.”

She looks back at him sharply, her throat constricting. She wasn’t expecting that. “What?”

He reaches for her, but her hands rest limply in her lap at the kitchen island, unreciprocating, so he flattens his hand out on the granite counter. “I love you, Katniss. I want to be a family, the three of us.”

Her eyelids blink slowly, and she shakes her head slowly, uncomprehendingly; she feels like she’s underwater. “You…you walked away from me, Gale. From us.” She touches her belly. “I don’t know if…if I can…”

“Please. I know I hurt you. But don’t I at least deserve a shot?” he asks desperately.

“It’s not just a shot, Gale.” She frowns. “This isn’t a trial period. It doesn’t work like that, not with a child. What if you change your mind again? What if you realize you don’t want this and you walk out again?”

His mouth thins, and he exhales angrily through his nose. “I wouldn’t…I won’t. I was an idiot before. I didn’t think I was ready to be a father. I spent most of my life raising my brothers and sister, and I just…I was being selfish, Katniss. I know. I fucked up. But you know I’d be a good father to our child. I want to be here for him.”

“Her,” she corrects softly. His eyes widen slightly.

“It’s a girl?” She nods, and he swallows thickly, looking away. It takes him a moment to compose himself. “I’m going to have a daughter?”

He sounds so awed, her own eyes water, and she softens, smiles.

“Have you picked a name?” he asks, and she shakes her head.

“I haven’t been able to decide on one yet.”

He nods thoughtfully, a small smile turning his lips up. Then he laughs slightly, wiping at his eyes. His expression turns somber. “I know I can’t apologize enough for what I did, Katniss. But if you let me, I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. I’ll be the best husband to you, the best father to our daughter.”

She stares at him, studying him, mulling his words over. She should give him a second chance. She knows that’s the responsible, grown-up thing to do. For her daughter. For herself. She and Gale make more sense together than she and Peeta do, she knows this.

So, really. The answer is simple. The decision is an easy one.

* * *

The knock on her back door is quiet. Katniss looks up from the blanket she’s trying to knit and bites her lip. It’s been a day since she told Peeta to leave. She’s almost surprised he came back, though she knows she shouldn’t be. He always comes back.

Carefully, she stands up from the couch and walks to the back door, unlocking it to pull it open.

Peeta stands on her patio, his face twisted with contrition. He shoves his hands into his front pockets. “Hey,” he says softly.

“Hi,” she replies, leaning against the door.

He takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry for acting like an asshole yesterday.”

She shakes her head. “No. You were acting like an 18-year-old.” She sighs, and his frown twists down farther.

“I know. I’m sorry. I was being immature.”

“You were hurt,” she ventures quietly, searching his face. This time, she’s the one who’s contrite. “I wasn’t honest to Gale about who or what you are to me. I understand why you reacted that way.”

He shifts uncomfortably. “You were embarrassed. About me. I mean, I know you are. I know my age is something that bothers you.”

She doesn’t nod right away. “It does. I can get over the embarrassment—I _am_ over it—but the problem is that you’re young, Peeta. You still have your whole life ahead of you. That’s how it should be. You want this now, but who’s to say you’ll want this later?”

He looks hurt. “You don’t trust me.”

“As much as I can trust anyone right now,” she tells him. She has to protect herself and her daughter. She’s scared of pushing him, but she has to know where he stands first. He can’t be unsure, not even a little bit.

He seems to be chewing over her words, injury flashing across his face. “Haven’t I shown you that I’m reliable? That I want to be here with you? That I want you? And her? All of this?” He juts his chin out, motioning toward her, toward her belly.

“I just…need to be sure,” she whispers.

He sighs roughly, hunching his shoulders forward. “Can I ask what happened with your ex last night?”

“He wanted to apologize. He said he’s ready to be a father. And he wants us to be a family. He wants me to give us another shot.”

Peeta’s head tips backward while she’s speaking, his eyes closing. Finally, he nods, but when he looks back at her, his expression is pained. Dejected. “Right. And I assume you are.”

“I should,” she says softly, too soft.

He looks away. “I get it. I—can you just…” He clears his throat when his voice cracks, and he gives her a pleading look. She’s not sure if it’s a trick of the moonlight or if his eyes are watering. “Can I still see her? Sometimes? I don’t want to make things weird for you and— _him_ , but maybe—maybe I can babysit sometimes. Or whatever, just—” He exhales and stops himself, getting worked up.

“Peeta,” she interrupts. “You can see her anytime you want. I assume you’ll still be coming over every day.”

He looks at her, confused. “Every—but…”

She moves closer to him, her bare toes curling over the edge of her doorstep, and she gently grabs the back of his neck to pull his face to hers. His lips are slack with surprise against hers, but she kisses them, the bottom then the top before brushing her tongue against his. He responds immediately, sealing his mouth to hers, and his hands find anchor on her hips, pulling her as close as her belly will allow.

When she breaks away from him, he’s breathing heavier. “But…Gale…?”

She shakes her head. “I told him he’s our child’s father, and nothing will change that. And if he wants to be in her life, I want him to be as well. But not as my partner or husband. I don’t feel the same way about him that I used to.” He wasn’t happy after their conversation the night before, especially not at the prospect of another man helping raise his child, but she told him in no uncertain terms these were the conditions he had to accept to be involved.

Peeta swallows, his throat bobbing, and his lips twitch like he wants to smile but he’s too wary to. “And…you feel…about me?”

She smiles shyly. “I feel like…I want you around all the time. I feel happy when I’m with you. If you—if you’re absolutely _sure_ you want to be a part of this, of her life, of _mine_ —”

“Yes. Yes, god, Katniss. A hundred times, yes,” he says fiercely, and he kisses her again.

But she feels a powerful ripple in her stomach, then another one, and she pulls back with a laugh. She touches the spot where her daughter’s still kicking, and Peeta places his palm there too, grinning.

“I think she wants you around all the time, too.”


End file.
